


Seduction of Angels

by Jenchantress_stories



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Sam Winchester / Dean Winchester - Freeform, Spit As Lube, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, no talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 10:47:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19227619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenchantress_stories/pseuds/Jenchantress_stories
Summary: Post hunt. Sam and Dean come back to the motel and give each other proof that they're still alive and still together.





	Seduction of Angels

**Author's Note:**

> For this one, I got inspired by a poem by Bertolt Brecht: Über die Verführung von Engeln (About the seduction of Angels). It's short, quite pornographic and starts like this: 
> 
> _You either seduce an angel quickly or not at all_  
>  _just pull him into an entrance_

The moment the door's closed, Dean turns around, turns himself to Sam, pushing his chest to the wooden motel door, his own chest pressed upon his brother's back. Dean hands go down, along Sam's body, finding their way below his jacket, to his belt, his fly, opens them quickly like he's on a clock. He knows every movement, how to remove all obstacles until Sam's underwear is finally pushed below, just enough to expose his butt cheeks. 

With a little puddle of his own saliva Dean coats his rock-hard dick, lines up and pushes in. It's nearly too tight to be enjoyable, but that's exactly what they're looking for, what they both need. A need to be grounded back to earth, a need to feel each other alive. 

A few slow thrusts to ease in completely before Dean picks up speed, quietly moaning near Sam's ear, hot breath on his skin. Sam's breathing heavily, hold back his own moaning when Dean gathers more saliva in his right hand and starts stroking Sam's own erection, making sure he gives and takes at the same time, having his brother's back like he always does.

Sam's hands are up at the door, beside his head. He's handing himself over to Dean, letting him take whatever he needs right now, knowing what they both need right now. No talking, not looking at each other, just having the most intense physical contact possible. 

They never talked. They don't talk while doing it or talking about it at any other time. This weird, fucked up ritual that's genuinely sick but kind of appropriate for the life they live, starting when Sam was still a little smaller than Dean, not much, utmost an inch. If he would ever think about it, Dean wouldn't know if their first few times happened on a consensual level. If Sam would ever think about it, he wouldn't know either. 

But they don't think about it, they just do it, like they do it now. Dean's thrusting as fast as he can, penetrating deeper into Sam's tight, hot hole, like they only have minutes left, like something's coming for them. They wet sound from they lower bodies paired with their muffled moaning is filling the room. Stroking Sam, Dean's twisting his wrist and curling his finger's tight about Sam's dick, feeling him twitch, making his breath hitch, letting him cum in his hand while cumming inside him, shooting a part of him deep into Sam. 

The moment both are done Dean turns around, leaving Sam at the door and disappears into the bathroom. Sam catches his breath, sorts himself, feeling exhausted and relieved from the proof that they're both alive, that they're both here together.

**Author's Note:**

> Last lines of the poem:
> 
> _he can let himself fall without fear because_  
>  _he's hanging between earth and heaven_  
>  _but don't look into his face while fucking him_  
>  _and his wings, human, don't crush_


End file.
